Escape
by zqaswxedcrfvtgbhyntbyhnujimko
Summary: Alex rider tortured, joined by a little girl . They try to escape and seek help. (never say die didn't happen.)
1. Chapter 1

Alex woke with a cry on his lips, still trembling from his nightmare. The room around him swam and spun as he gazed around blearily. His back was pure agony, his throat was aching and sore. His head hurt so bad it was as if his brain decided to take a trip through a washing machine before partying in a blender. Despite the pain, Alex chuckled grimly at the meager information he had gleaned from his time in captivity. He was still in London, caught by one of the more powerful local gangs… and that's all he knew. Oh, how he wished for jack to be here, to comfort him! But she was…he refused to say _that_ word.

Jack… that thought pulled up memories that he wanted to keep locked away in that dark, haunting place at the back of his mind. That place where memories of terror, of grief and of darkness resided. That place that formed when he was first forced to join mi6. That place that only grew more terrifying, bleaker, more soulless with each suicide mission he completed.

He took a deep breath, trying to push those memories away. He straightened his spin from that curled position in his cell. My cell… he grinned at that thought. He had been trapped in here long enough for him to refer to this hellhole as 'his cell'. This cage that stank of sweat, vomit blood and piss. That reeked of despair and desperation. And of pain. _The pain_. At that thought, The stench suddenly became overwhelming, and the pain seemed to triple, accompanied by a ache in his heart that throbbed and pulsed insistently. ( _the pain, it ripped through his chest, it was too much, too much for him to handle. That flash of red hair, that American accent, that laugh. Then...the pain, the pain, the pain, he was dying, dying no SHE was dying, dead, from that explosion, that boom that echoed in his head…_ )

He jerked, gasped, as he pulled himself from that abyss of bad memories, that freefall into the dreadful darkness.

Just in time. His cell door rattled, a beefy tattooed guy came in. A lowly gangster, barely worth anyone's time. _'beef' that's what I will call him_ thought Alex as he steeled himself for what was to come.

"So, what do you have for me today?" Alex smirked. Easily pulling up that mask, that facade of a unbreakable, undaunted spy. Those masks, easily fooling people, but never himself (he hoped they would one day). The hundreds, thousands of masks, pulled up around the walls which housed his tormented, breaking, fracturing soul. He knew one day the masks would crack, would shatter, and others would see his weakness, the weakness that got people killed, that got _Jack_ killed. _But not today._ Grimly, he held onto to his masks, throwing all his strength into maintaining this façade, trying not to think of the day when his strength failed and his masks slipped out of his grasp.

As the whip came slashing into his back, tearing though skin and flesh, all Alex did was grit his bloodied teeth, and spit at his captor.

Shudders ripped through him as he slowly came to in his cell ( _he was beginning to think of it as his permanent home_ ). Slowly, feebly he lifted up his head, trying to ignore his pounding headache. His vision was blurry, the room merely a smear of colours, swirling and mixing, taunting and teasing, reminding him of his burdens, his torment. He let loose a breath, trying to ease the fire on his back, licking its way up his spine, to his neck. He lay on his stomach, pressed against the cold, cold floor, utterly at odds with the inferno raging on his back. A sudden wave of hopelessness, of _utter despair_ , that came crashing onto him, smothering that wavering spark of hope in him. _He would never get out, never see the sunlight again, never savour the cold wet London weather again._ His chest tightened, his heart heavy and weary. Tears leaked out of his eyes, but he made no sound.

A sob, a soft whimper cut through the air like a sharp, sharp knife. Alex tensed, immediately spotting the source.

 _A_ child, _a child_ not even ten years old. How could a child be here, in this…in this...hell on earth? The cracks in Alex's heart fractured a little more, even as he slowly crawled towards the child. He arranged his face into one of gentleness and worry, hoping the child would not sense his pain. "Hey, what's your name? Are you hurt?" He softly asked, hoping his voice, hoarse from screaming, didn't scare the child.

She looked up at him, innocence and fear shining brightly in her eyes. She whimpered, but didn't shy away from Alex. "I'm Helen" she whispered.

A sudden wave of fury crashed over Alex. How could they, how could they do this. Bringing a child, a clearly innocent child in here, into a world of torture, of pain? "Some big scary man took me away from my Ma, then shot her" at that she began to cry again. "My Ma was bleeding bad, there was so much blood, but those men didn't care. They took me and asked me about my da. But I haven't seen my da in years!'

Alex had heard enough. Gathering the child oh his arms, he stroked her hair, comforted her.

Now, more than ever, he needed to get out, to escape, to bring this child to safety.

. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alex hated being still. Despite the pain in his back, he _hated_ not moving, not doing _anything_. This inaction, this silent stillness made him feel on edge, as if he was waiting something to happen. He tensed at every sudden noise, hands twitching and jittering randomly.

The child, Helen, merely cuddled up to his side and slept.

Alex slept little and ate little, choosing to give most of his stale bread and water to Helen, who eagerly eat what he gave. He waited, observed, planned, calculated, with those cold, sharp, emotionless eyes of his, and that discerning intelligent mind. He learnt when the guards changed, where the guards patrolled, which areas were less guarded, anything and everything he could gather.

The plan was finally ready. Everything was in place. All that remained was its execution.

In the dead of the night, (judging from the faltering moonlight that made its way into their cell, and the loud snores of the guard), Alex told Helen the plan, tersely, quietly. She straightened, eyes snapping into focus, immediately losing the sleepy and dazed look. _She's doing well, despite what she has got through_ Alex mused, mouth curling into a mirthless smile.

The next time beef came, both Alex and Helen were ready.

Keys rattled, clicking into the lock, grinding as the rusty lock yielded, opening up. The steel door creaked, as it slowly opened, the stench of vomit and burnt flesh wafting its way up his nose, along with other noises: the scream of other prisoners, the snore of a guard, the billions of other noises one could here in the torture chambers.

The minute beef stepped in, Helen opened her mouth, took a deep breath and screamed. A long keening wail, on and on, so loud that even Alex's ear drums rattled. The sort of wail that made one think of cold, dark things, that sent shivers up one's spine, that reopened past memories and old wounds.

Alex spring into action, taking advantage of beef's pause. A swipe to the legs and a swift punch later, beef was on the floor out cold. Alex grabbed Helen's hand and swiped beef's ring of keys. Ignoring the way his wounds sent lashes of paralyzing pain down his back, and they set of at a run.

—

His arms ached and shook, practically collapsing under the weight of the child in his arms. Despite that, he ran, as fast as he could, swifter than the wind, noiseless and light, the steps of a predator in the dark, dark night. He easily slipped back into being an assassin, each step he took graceful and stealthy, every action swift and sure. His eyes were sharp, cautious, taking in everything, looking out for potential threats. A frantic yell from the distance prompted him to move quicker, for the guards now knew that the two of them had escaped. He raced past corridors, down stairs, past rooms and cells. He sprinted past them all, desperately, to find an exit, a door that led to freedom.

 _There!_ Hope bloomed in his chest, a delicate flower, beautiful, shining and bright. He spied a fire escape, rusty, locked, _but there._ He rushed to it, set Helen down, and started trying the lock with beef's ring of keys. It was going too slowly, _too slowly,_ _they were never going to make it._ Alex's fingers trembled as he fitted each key into that huge, intimidating padlock, hoping to get lucky. Helen stood beside him, trembling and shivering with fear.

The guards soon found them. That spark of hope, that tiny ember in Alex's chest died out. _"_ put down the keys, turn towards me and put your hands in the air." A guard ordered, the rest pointing their tranquillizer guns at them. _No, no, NO! They were so close, freedom was just a hairs breadth away!_ He crouched slowly, calmly, but the words that came from his mouth were anything but calm. "I will buy you time, try the remaining keys, unlock the door and _run._ No matter what, don't look back. Use the fire escape to get to the streets, hide somewhere. "the whispered words were anguished and defeated, the words of one prepared to die.

Alex set the keys on the floor and turned. The tension in the air barely eased. The minute the keys touched the ground, Helen snatched them up. Alex gave a roar, the war cry of a desperate soldier's last charge, and fought. He charged the first guard, knocking him out with a swift jab to the neck before taking his handgun. The other guards, momentarily stunned, began to fire their darts. _I'm lucky they were ordered not to kill me._ Alex thought grimly. A faint cry of relief sounded, followed by the creak of the fire escape door opening. _GO HELEN!_ Alex screamed, voice cracking _GO, GO NOW!_ He redoubled his efforts. _Bang bang bang bang!_ Four guards dropped dead. Once he was out of ammunition, Alex went hand to hand, beginning the deadly dance for his life.

He punched, ducked, kicked, chopped, using every move taught to him in Malagosto, in his karate lessons. Anything to help him win. He moved like a whirlwind, like a tempest. Unforgiving, deadly, harsh. No longer a boy, but an assassin trained by the best. No longer the victim, but a force of nature, completely unstoppable. He barely felt the blows the guards landed on him, fully focused on inflicting damage on the guards.

Soon, all the guards were on the ground, unconscious, dead or groaning. The tranquilizer guns were kicked neatly into a pile, far away from the guards. But not at a cost. Alex stumbled. He had broken an arm, a few ribs and definitely had a concussion. Slowly, he limped off towards the fire escape, adrenaline long gone. He hobbled down the stairs, each breath sending shards of glass into his lungs, shoving jolts of electricity down the broken arm cradled to his chest.

—-

He moved slowly, trying not to jar his broken arm and ribs. Breathing shallowly, feeling like he was going to pass out, he finally reached the streets...and found himself in an alley in a slum. He slumped against a wall. _great. Just great._ He sighed. Now, not only did he need to deal with his injuries, he also had to avoid the lowlifes: pickpockets, gangsters, the whole lot. Wearily, he staggered into a standing position and went off to search for Helen.

It had been an hour and Helen was still missing. The exhaustion weighed down heavily on him. It threatened to pull him under, to submerge him in the pool of tiredness, bad memories and hopelessness that resided in him. He willed his movements not to be sluggish, willed himself to keep fighting against the chains of weariness, to not give in, to keep fighting. But he didn't know how long he could last.


	3. Chapter 3

The exhaustion soon gave way to frantic worry. He had been searching for over an hour now, but he still could not find Helen. All he wanted was to rest, just for a little while, to sit down, breath and get rid of the heavy, heavy tiredness that stifled his senses and clouded his thinking.

But all he did was to grit his teeth and shove all that hurt, worry and tiredness into a deep dark hole at the back of his mind.

His ears suddenly picked up a sound so soft, it didn't even seem to be there. He tense instantly, adrenaline flooding his body. He spun towards the sound, body unconsciously tending into a battle stance, a broken and weary warrior ready to fight for his life.

But nothing appeared, and the sound emitted again from a nearby dustbin. Alex flinched at the noise, Muscles tensing so much they seemed to jump of his bones.

Cautiously, he crept up to the bin, and flipped the lid, cringing at loud bang the lid made as it flipped over. He looked in.

Two large eyes appeared, eyes not quite blue or gray, eyes that held fear, desperation and a tiny spark of hope.

"Alex?" A soft whisper told Alex it was Helen. Knee-weakening relief coursed through both his body and hers as he lifted her out of the bin. Helen flung her arms around his neck, not to choke and maim, but to embrace and celebrate. The hug was filled with so much relief, happiness and joy that even Alex felt it, felt those warm foreign emotions enter him and maybe, just maybe heal a tiny fraction of his soul.

Together they sat by bin, surrounded by trash, Helen on his lap, as they caught their breath and cleaned up a little.

But too soon, the happiness wore of and Alex was worried once more. Where Would they stay? Who would they get help from?

But as Helen snuggled up closer to him, seeking his warmth, he decided I'll leave all that for morning.

Then he settled down, curling up with Helen and fell asleep.

—

Alex woke up in cold sweat, shaking and shivering. Not from cold, but from his bad dreams. He could still see, as clearly as day, the explosion that ripped through Jack, killing her, painting everything red and black. He could see the blacken car, the dark, dark stains on the ground, and feel the tang of grief and fear that was in the air that fateful fay. He remembered the way Julius grief's body crumpled to the ground, the way Razim struggled, slowly sinking into the salt.

Shaking his head, he cleared his mind of horrid thoughts and focused on the current situation.

Where would they stay? Alex pondered hard.

Dawn soon came, bringing with it warmth and new hope. Helen stirred and woke.

Together they set out into a brand-new day, ready to face the world and survive.

—

Helen and him had been wandering around for about two hours, sticking mainly to the alleyways and backstreets. But after finding some clothes that weren't stained, torn and covered in blood and dirt, they dared to venture into the better parts of the town in hopes of scavenging some more food. And their luck was great so far. 2 half eased subway sandwiches, some soggy fries and a drinking fountain later, they were in a good mood ( _or as good a mood one can be when recently made homeless and abandoned by one's government_ ) His injuries only throbbed with pain, and he could deal with it. _it could have been worse._ Alex shuddered, suddenly thankful that he didn't have any bullet wounds. The duo walked down the streets aimlessly.

Alex stopped in his tracks.

 _Isn't that Ben's house?_ He furrowed his brows as he stared as a perfectly ordinary house, perched at the end of the street. Feeling anxious, he debated on whether he should enter. _A shower and some proper treatment for my injuries sure will be nice_ he thought to himself, suddenly feeling very dirty and aware of the crusted blood still on his back. _Helen needs a roof over her head too._ That decided it _._ With a deep breath, he threw all caution to the wind and knocked. _Thud._ The sound of his fist against the wooden door seemed hollow and foreboding. But he did it again. And again. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ Each knock made bile rise up in his throat and his heart beat faster. _What if Ben calls the MI6? What if MI6 decides to kill me?_ MI6, deciding that he was no longer capable due to his mental state, (it was their fault he had PTSD anyway!) had taken away his identity. Without a home, money or identification, all Alex could do was live on the streets until he was picked up by one of his enemies. He was just glad it was some London gang and not SCORPIA

Only the fragile, delicate hope in Helen's eyes kept him there.

Creakkk...the door opened a tiny gap. Alex's heart stuttered. Ben poked his head out, glancing at them suspiciously. his eyes widened as he beheld the ragtag duo on his door step. _Alex?_ He breathed. Furtively, Alex nodded.

Ben's eyes glinted with unshed tears. He quickly ushered Helen and Alex into his house.

Alex and Helen collapsed into an armchair, thoroughly exhausted. Ben kneeled in front of the armchair, eyes wild and breath coming in short pants. "Mi6 told me you were dead!" He clasped both his hands on Alex's cheeks. "How are you not dead? I…I even saw your body." His voice cracked. I was going insane; how could you leave us? How could you?" Alex sighed, pushed past his exhaustion, and went to comfort Ben. Laying the half-asleep Helen in the armchair, he led Ben to the couch, and tightly grasped his two hands. "it's MI6's fault. They tortured me for information I didn't have on SCORPIA, and erased me. I had no identity, no money, no shelter. I was picked up by one of my lower level enemies. Found Helen there and we both escaped." Alex said lowly. The lack of emotion and description in Alex's words seemed to calm ben down to a less hysterical state. Ben nodded, gulping in air.

—

An hour later, Ben was back in control, Helen was asleep upstairs and Alex was sitting on the couch with a hot chocolate, staring at a blank television.

Ben settled down beside him. "So how are you really? And don't give me that 'I'm fine' crap. I want the truth." Ben asked softly but firmly, wrapping a comforting arm around Alex. Alex's body seemed to soften and melt into the safe embrace of Ben's arm. He shuddered, from the weight and horror of past memories, but spilled everything to Ben. he told of how his government abandoned him, his time as prisoner with London's most notorious gang and is harrowing escape with Helen. He spun a tale so gruesome, so terrifying, so cruel that all Ben could do at the end of it was wrap Alex in his arms and run a soothing hand down his scarred back. "you're _safe now, Alex_. " Ben whispered.

And for the first time since Jack's death, Alex let down his walls, tore down his masks, bared his broken soul for the world to see, and _cried._


End file.
